


finding the frenchmen

by ofscythia



Series: fragments of time [1]
Category: The Old Guard (Comics), The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Gen, Hanging, Pre-Canon, Temporary Character Death, The War of 1812, problem solving in the cold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:14:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28136769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofscythia/pseuds/ofscythia
Summary: After a few minutes of struggling, the noose wins out and the man goes limp again, leaving the three of them back in the eerie silence of a snow-covered countryside. Andy sighs and pulls her cap down lower over her ears.“Let’s cut the poor bastard down, shall we?”
Series: fragments of time [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2061318
Comments: 4
Kudos: 82





	finding the frenchmen

**Author's Note:**

> the start of an Old Guard prompt ficlet series, organized here for reading ease. As always, your comments are much appreciated!

They find their new companion twitching at the end of an ice-covered rope, body jerking violently enough to scare away the buzzards that have perched themselves on the wooden frame of the gallows.

He’s a hellish pop of color against the white world of the Russian countryside, face a sickening mix of burst blood vessels and black and white frostbitten skin. There are tears frozen onto his face and fouler things frozen into his trousers and the snow beneath him. Andy notes all of this with a cool detachment; death is often messy business.

The three of them stand beneath the gallows in silent contemplation, huddled close to try and block the sharp bite of the wind. Out in the open, there’s almost no shelter afforded from the elements. In all the years she’s lived, discovering a new immortal is always a heady experience. Looking up at his ruined face, Andy is struck by the eerie sense of familiarity. She’s never met this man, but she already knows him intimately.

After a few minutes of struggling, the noose wins out and the man goes limp again, leaving the three of them back in the eerie silence of a snow-covered countryside. Andy sighs and pulls her cap down lower over her ears. “Let’s cut the poor bastard down, shall we?”

They gather at the man’s feet, looking up at his still form. Given the structure of the gallows, it looks as though the hanged men were standing on wagons, dropping down to be hanged once they were rolled out from under them. Unable to reach the rope from the ground, Nicoló and Yusuf mutter quickly to each other in Arabic. It seems they reach an agreement, with Nicoló stooping down to allow Yusuf to climb up on his back and sit atop his shoulders.

Now in reach of the rope, Yusuf pulls out his knife and begins working to cut it. Andy wraps her arms around the man’s legs to keep him still and Nicoló rests his hands on Yusuf’s legs to keep him steady as he works.

“Trussed up and hanged like a common criminal.” Nicoló says, wincing as the wind bumps another hanged man against his side. “I wonder what he did to deserve it.”

“I’m more curious why the French decided waste all this wood.” She says dryly. “Seems a pity, given all the frozen corpses we passed to get here.”

Nicoló huffs a laugh, reaching up to pull his scarf higher over his mouth and nose. “Which do you prefer? Death by heat, or cold?”

It is an easy answer, tinged by millennia of experience with both. “The cold. Drifting off to sleep is better than dying in a heat delirium.”

“Well, I have several fond memories of heatstroke.” Yusuf says above them, still sawing at the noose. “Cradled in the arms of my beloved, his face shading me from the heat of a merciless sun. I’d rather be warm, at the end.”

“Says the man who never burned at the stake.” Andy shoots back. “You only say that because you dislike snow.”

“His romantic temperament is better suited to warmer climates.” Nicoló suggests, patting his lover’s leg fondly. “Which is a pity, considering that we’ll have to make camp soon. I doubt our new friend will be up for marching out of here tonight.”

Yusuf huffs at that. “I’m always happy to accommodate a friend, so long as we don’t end up freezing alongside him.”

“That abandoned wagon we passed should give us some cover from the wind.” Andy points out. “I’m not making any promises about getting a fire going, but I think we can make it bearable. I’m sure the Frenchman has some suggestions on how to best set up camp in all this.”

“It’s a hellscape.” Nicoló agrees. “No wonder Napoleon’s _Armée_ fell apart out here.”

“Which is why I’m not too surprised to see him hanging. There’s few places more nonsensical than an army camp, much less an army camp in a retreat.” Yusuf chimes in. “I’m sure he’ll have an interesting story to tell us when he rises again.”

Nicoló scowls. “Or he’s some coward or scoundrel, one so bad that his own men turned against him.”

“Must I remind you called me an infidel when we first met?”

“My love, that was different.”

“How?”

“We were good enough soldiers that our own armies didn’t execute us.”

“That’s not true; I found you dead in a ditch outside of the Christian camp at Acre once, didn’t I?”

“How about we worry about cutting down our new friend?” Andy interrupts, glancing around the man’s legs to glare at Nicoló. “I don’t want to be down here when he starts kicking again.”

“Fair enough.” Yusuf cedes, looking down at her. “Can you pull on his legs? The rope is nearly broken.”

Andy tightens her grip on the man’s legs and pulls down hard, grunting when the rope finally snaps and she takes his full weight. As Nicoló and Yusuf work to disentangle themselves, Andy sets the man down into the snow and rolls him on his side. Pulling out her own knife, she begins to work to cut away the noose itself and the rope that binds his hands behind his back.

It is delicate work, given the toughness of the frozen ropes and the care needed to avoid cutting the skin. She is quietly impressed at how cold and stiff his body is, clearly ravaged after being out so long out in the elements. Andy is thankful this new man and Nicoló seem to be around the same size, since he’ll need to be dressed in dry clothes to keep him alive once he rises again.

Once the ropes are cleared away, the three gather around the dead man and take stock of their newest member.

“How wretched he looks.” Nicoló says, arms crossed over his chest.

"Months without good rations, I’m sure.” Andy says, kicking at the man’s leg to see if he stirs. “It would be impossible to run an effective supply line out in all this mess.”

“Germany, ’98?” Yusuf suggests.

“Different.” Andy counters. “Not nearly as cold in Germany as here.”

“And the French succeeded in conquering the territory, that time.” Nicoló says.

“Do you think Napoleon will accept this loss?” Yusuf asks. “He’s proven to be quite a persistent man.”

“He lost once he left Moscow and decided to expose his already-starving men to a Russian winter.” Andy says. “But I’m sure he’ll rally and start all this over again.”

“Look!” Nicoló interrupts. “He’s coming ‘round.”

As always, the return starts slowly. The man’s chest begins to slowly rise and fall, the frostbitten parts of his face beginning to fade back to a normal color. The three each take a step back, careful to not overwhelm the man when he comes fully back to life.

The Frenchmen shutters back to life with a scream, a hoarse and awful croaking that suggests his throat still wasn’t totally healed from the damage. His body jerks as sensation rushes back into his limbs and he sits up, eyes darting around wildly until his gaze settles on the three of them. Andy can see a flash of recognition cut through the panic in his eyes and takes that as an invitation to speak.

“Ah, _mon ami_.” She calls. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”


End file.
